May There Be a Light
by elfchicks
Summary: When Mirkwood is invaded by Southrons, will the young Prince Legolas and allies from Lothlórien be able to stop them, before it's too late? Fifth chapter up.
1. Default Chapter

**May There Be a Light**

_Anarion Tari Culnama_

**Chapter I**

A/N: I basically made this story up as I went along. It's most definitely not one of my better ones, but I finished it, all the same. It's grows a bit more interesting and complicated towards the end, as well as a bit better written, because I wrote the first two chapters when I was about 12, and the rest when I was about 14. I've just recently decided to finish it. I hope you enjoy it, at least a little bit at most.

* * *

"Legolas, why are you here?" the woman asked, her face drawn with confusion. "We haven't seen any of your people for many years. Can it be there is trouble?" 

Legolas sighed, regretting the news he had to deliver. "My lady," he began. "As always, your perception shines bright. I am afraid I bring ill news. The Southrons have entered Mirkwood. We come to ask for your aid in war. Their numbers are many and we are not certain we will come through victorious. They captured an outpost on the southern edge of the forest, leaving none alive, so they thought. Two of my people escaped and brought word of what had taken place." Here he paused, regarding the knowing look in Galadriel's deep eyes. "Please inform Celeborn of the news when he returns," he added. "I pray you will consider this request carefully before coming to a decision."

She gently raised a hand to stop him.

"I shall inform him," she said. "Do not worry Legolas Thranduilian, consider your request granted. It always pleases those of the Golden Wood to aid our friends of Mirkwood." She smiled reassuringly, and Legolas felt everything would turn out for the best as long as the Galadhrim pledged their support. He bowed courteously and turned to leave.

"Legolas, would you please remain here tonight?" asked Galadriel. "Haldir will lead the army to Mirkwood on the morrow, and I feel it would be safer for you if you accompanied them for your return journey. What say you?"

Legolas nodded, thankfully. He was nearly exhausted from the long ride and a rest seemed wise to him. "I shall, my lady. And I thank you most profusely. The people of Mirkwood are forever in your debt."

* * *

An elf-maid clad in white led Legolas to an area with many groves of mallorn trees where he might sleep. Dropping several cushions and blankets on the grass before him, she turned to leave. He thanked her, watching as she departed. Resting his back against the base of a tree with his hands interlocked behind his head, he gazed drowsily at the mallorns beginning to drop their golden leaves. It brought back memories of times before. Times that were less evil, where peril did not reign and one needn't fear leaving his own home. He sighed wistfully, watching as the leaves fell softly to the grass, announcing the beginning of the autumn season. 

Before long, his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a light sleep. Normally, if he had been in any other place, he would have had apprehensions about sleeping out in the open where enemies could appear at any moment. But here, it was different. This was the Golden Wood, and never did evil enter that fair place.

Though his dreams were dark and foreboding, a sense of hope lingered beyond the shadow. A hope to carry on though the outlook was bleak and defeat seemed imminent. Something told him the Southron's onslaught would fail and good would triumph in the end, but one could never be certain. These were evil times.

* * *

Legolas rose before the dawn and went immediately to the stables. His white stallion, Arato, was pawing impatiently at the straw to depart. 

"Yes," said Legolas, patting the horse's neck. "We will go soon." He swung open the gate and grasped Arato's halter.

"Tula," the elf whispered gently, leading the horse out. He tied the stallion to a post and brushed his smooth white coat, all the while singing in his clear elvish voice. The horse nickered softly.

"Do you wish to sing as well?" Legolas chuckled. He gave the horse another pat and continued to run the brush over his body. At length, the sun rose golden upon the land, sending its warm rays in through the stable doors to light the day. Legolas led Arato out and swung himself deftly onto his back. Arato gave a neigh as if to announce that they were leaving and Legolas could feel the horse's eagerness to run, pulling at the reins.

"No, no," scolded the elf. "Not yet. We must wait." He urged the horse to a walk and soon they came to the barracks situated brilliantly under an enormous spreading mallorn. From a distance, Legolas could see the battalion of archers and swordsman making preparations to depart. They had not yet mounted their steeds, but had shouldered their weapons and were waiting for an order.

"All elves mount and make formations," commanded Haldir. "Swordsman in front, archers fall in behind." The order was carried out swiftly and skillfully. Legolas positioned himself at the rear and greeted those around him.

"To Mirkwood!" cried Haldir. "Forth Galadhrim! To battle and honor." As the company moved out, Legolas urged Arato to a walk and then on to a steady gait.

"Mara aure," he said to an auburn haired elf riding beside him. "What is your name?"

"I cannot believe this!" said the elf. "Can it be that you have forgotten your old best friend?"

Legolas studied his face, once more, trying to see who it reminded him of.

"It cannot be," said Legolas in disbelief. "Orophin?" The elf nodded.

"You've changed so much since our last meeting!" exclaimed Legolas.

Orophin had been Legolas' boyhood friend. Whenever there had been a festival in Mirkwood and Haldir's family had come to visit, Legolas and the two younger boys would share the best of times together.

Orophin and Rumil, the closest to him in age, he spent all of his time with for the most part, on account of Haldir being "too serious". And that was just fine with Haldir. He had much more enjoyed the company of the adults anyway.

"Where is Rumil?" asked Legolas searching the riders with his eyes.

"There," Orophin pointed. "He holds the standard."

Legolas looked and saw him ahead, bearing a standard in the colours of the Golden Wood, chiefly green and silver. Legolas sighed. So much had changed, it was overwhelming. He barely recognized the ones who had at one time been his best friends. And now that he had seen them again, he felt a strange sense of loss, as if his child-hood years had gone by too swiftly.

At length, they paused to rest the horses. Legolas dismounted and let Arato free to graze for a few minutes. Seeing the rest of his comrades tending to their horses some ways away, he made his way towards the company and approached Rumil.

"Well met," greeted Legolas, warmly. "How has life been to you, my friend?"

"Legolas!" said Rumil. "What a fair day it is to see you! Orophin told me that you were here. At first, I didn't believe him, but now I see."

"Yes," said Legolas. "To me it is the same."

"I still can barely believe it," continued Rumil. "The last time I saw you, it was at the Winter Festival in Mirkwood. Master Elrond was there, along with the Lords of Imladris. Celeborn and Galadriel were there as well. My family came also. I do not believe anyone was entirely prepared for what happens when young elflings get together. That was the time when you, Orophin, and I dropped over-ripe fruit off of the balcony onto the elves that passed underneath. When they looked up to see who did it, we would jump back so they couldn't see us. We didn't get into a significant amount of trouble until we dropped several pears onto Lord Elrond and his young daughter, Arwen. Do you remember that?"

"All too well," said Legolas, recalling the memory of good times passed. "I was the only one who got into trouble, however. I had to help Lindorie in the kitchen for two weeks after that." The elf gave a pretense of displeasure, but he was inwardly laughing at he and his old friends' clever prank. He gave Rumil a sturdy pat on the back and went to collect Arato.


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II

As the company came out of the trees into the Forest Realm, Legolas steadied the horse and turned him, going up alongside Haldir. He directed him through the main gate and into the spacious Mirkwood courtyard.

"The liveries are there," pointed Legolas. The fair company passed through the tall arched doorways into the stables to tend to their fine steeds. Legolas galloped to the ornate palace threshold and nimbly dismounted. Thranduil was standing in the doorway to greet him. Doubtless, the Mirkwood sentinels had informed him of everything already.

"Mara aure, my son," greeted the sagacious king. "How went your journey?"

"Swift, yet tiring," answered Legolas. "No troubles."

"Come inside," said the king. "I have some more ill tidings."

The king sat in his ornate golden throne, bidding Legolas to sit as well.

"Legonin brought back information from all of the scouts yesterday," began Thranduil with a sigh. "I'm afraid it wasn't good. The Southrons have at least twice as many men as we do, and their defenses are sturdy. Every day, more come. I fear they are bringing their entire power against us."

"The skill of the Elves will best them," said Legolas confidently. He knew the Southrons to be clumsy and inept, at least most of them, but they had a great advantage through strength of arms. Even with this advantage, it took more than sheer numbers to win a war. Legolas twisted his silver ring on his finger, lost in thought. He wasn't certain when would be the best time to attack, but it must be soon, and in secret. If the Elves broke upon them suddenly, like water from a burst dam, the Southrons might be unprepared and highly useless in battle.

The outpost the Southrons had taken was small, most definitely not an important one, but it gave the Southrons yet another defense in their favor. But Legolas knew that only a few hundred men could utilize the fort at one time, not the thousands that the scouts had seen. The others were doubtless lurking around the woods, perhaps preparing to attack even now. Legolas finally decided to consult Haldir on this matter.

* * *

The decision had been made. They would attack to-night. 

The company of five-hundred Elves marched through the shadows of the dark trees. A cloud hung over them, Legolas thought. A cloud of ill omen. But they continued nevertheless. The rank upon rank of Elves stealthily made through the woods, silence bound in their thoughts and hearts. They must be silent and swift. Six Elvish runners were scouting ahead, to bring back reports of any danger that might linger to the fore. If they happened upon any Southron spies, the order had been 'shoot to kill'. They would take no prisoners.

Five-hundred warriors, mingled Mirkwood and Galadhrim, had been left behind to defend the capital. It would do no good if the city were attacked in their absense. There was no noise. Not the clanking of armor, nor the thudding of feet. Elves had ways of keeping absolutely silent. So silent in fact, that a man might be standing a few inches away with his eyes closed and not even sense their presence. Legolas was near Haldir and a few other high ranking officers, the highest of Mirkwood being Anarato the fair. He was an experienced general who had led the army to many victories: in the current age and before.

Legolas couldn't help but feel apprehensive. There might be Southron scouts anywhere that would report their whereabouts to the enemy and completely ruin their surprise. A silent runner came in. It was Legonin.

"We killed a scout," he said. "Nothing new. I dragged him into the shrubs so that none might find him. There is no trouble ahead that I can see. We are nearly there." He turned and flew back where he had come with light and noiseless strides.

The outpost was seen through the trees. There was no one around it. Two sentinels stood watch outside of the door, but nothing else was seen.

"Where is their army?" Legolas whispered to Anarato. "Should we send scouts to look?"

"I felt certain they would be here," said Anarato. "Perhaps they had word of our coming, though not likely. I think the runners are already on their trail. If the army isn't here, it must be somewhere else." A dreaded realization hit him like lightening on a summer night.

"I shouldn't wonder if they are busy attacking the city while we parade around trying to find them," he muttered, a look of mingled horror and disgust at the Southron's cleverness in his eyes. While they were off trying to attack them at the outpost, the Southrons were making their way to the Mirkwood capital. Anarato began giving orders.

"Legolas and Orophin," he barked. "You are to follow their trail. We will come after at a distance. If they are at the city, run back and bring word, so we may make haste." Legolas and Orophin quickly stepped out of rank and raced across the clearing to the other side of the forest, where the Southrons would doubtless have gone.

Finding their trail instantaneously, they kept to the darkest shadows and passed like wood spirits under the cover of the forest.

Presently, Legolas saw the slumped form of a burly Southron warrior lying on the ground beside the trail. It was obvious what had killed him: a striped red and orange arrow protruded brutally from his back. Legolas and Orophin approached with caution.

"Why would they kill one of their own?" pondered Legolas aloud.

"I cannot say," replied Orophin, readying a flawless white arrow on the string of his longbow. "This might mean trouble."


	3. Chapter III

**May There Be a Light- Chapter III **

The trail grew stronger and clearer as the Elves pressed on, each looking askance periodically for fear of an ambush lurking within the trees. But there was none. Legolas had a deadly arrow on the twine, ever ready for trouble. There was a cold gleam in his azure blue eyes, a focused and steady glare that added a fierce light to an otherwise unremarkable person and defined him as a warrior.

The sun was setting cold, the oaks were outlined in shades of darkness, and the heavy silence grew more intense. But still the two went on, resolute to continue until the enemy was located, or they died in the attempt.

All at once, Legolas heard a subtle snap and whirled, firing instinctively. The southron went down, a green striped arrow buried in his forehead. The man's drawn bow misfired with a sharp twang, the dart soaring pointlessly overhead. Orophin halted, aghast, and strode over to the body. Seeming to study it momentarily, he soon turned and sidled up to Legolas.

"How did he steal up on us so?" he asked in a voice that betrayed his mingled wonder and fear.

"My guess is that he didn't," replied Legolas. "I believe that he was lying in wait. There is no possible way that he could have been following us without us being able to mark his presence." Orophin nodded.

"You are almost certainly right," he said. "But, all the same, that was close. Too close. We must proceed with more care hereafter." To that end, the Elves applied themselves and experienced no more mishaps for a time. Legolas soon perceived that they were near the vicinity of the city, so he bade Orophin halt. They could already hear the distinctive din of battle: swords clashing, axes cleaving, arrows loosing, men uttering battle cries. All sounds were mingled into one uproarious tumult that gathered together and rose to Tar Menel like a storm. Legolas' eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in the manner of a stallion.

"My people die," he hissed vehemently. "I will not leave them, Orophin."

"Should we not return to Anarato?"

"Do you hear the noise, Orophin?" asked Legolas, his eyes flaming. "Elves are dying! If I delay to call upon the others, it will be too late. You go, Orophin. And if I'm not allowed the pleasure of meeting you again, I was honored to know you. Be swift. Bid the others make all speed. Namaarie."

As Orophin turned to fly, his last glimpse was Legolas charging furiously into the gloom of the trees, his blade a shining star, his countenance that of a hero of old. Orophin bid him farewell and sprinted back along the trail. He knew he had to reach the others in time.

* * *

Legolas' sword was cleaving madly. It spun and sliced and whirled so proficiently, one could only wonder at the adept hands that wielded it so. Any arrows of the Southrons he eluded without trouble. After slaying not a few adversaries, he escaped the ferocity of the battle and made for the impenetrable looking wall of stone. He broke away from the mob of Southrons and took a flying leap forward and away from the enemy. Vaguely, he heard someone cry:

"It's Prince Legolas! Hurry, let down a rope!" At a glance, Legolas took in the scene at the wall and perceived what had taken place. The Southrons had apparently reached the wall at one point, and raised a few ladders. But now, the arrows of the Elves had driven them back and the ladders had fallen near the bodies of the slain.

Finally, someone found a sturdy rope and tossed the end down. Legolas grasped it firmly and felt himself being forcefully hauled up. He pushed off the wall with his feet to keep himself from dragging against the fortification, glancing behind himself fearfully in anticipation of Southron arrows. But there were none. The near sea of Southrons had drawn back.

When Legolas reached the top of the wall, he found that he was face to face with Haldir. The elf's features were outlined in the dancing torchlight.

"You are rather reckless, my friend," the leader of the Galadhrim said lightly, but with visible wonder in his eyes. He hauled Legolas up over the wall and continued, his voice growing serious.

"We are holding them back," he sighed, "for the time being. Earlier, we sent out a sortie. They did much damage, but were compelled to withdraw based on the amount of the adversary. We didn't want to lose any lives unnecessarily. For a while, the Southrons brought out their archers, during which time we suffered our greatest losses, but they did also, and so they removed themselves to the back of the company. They hadn't many archers and couldn't afford to lose them all at once. As for us, we are resolved to remain behind the wall until things change. Is Anarato coming?"

"Orophin is summoning them," answered Legolas. He noticed a gleam of worry in the general's eyes, but Haldir quickly blinked it away. "If we can hold out long enough, Anarato will hem them in from behind. I'm certain Orophin will make it."

"I pray you are right," said Haldir, turning back to the wall. He stooped down and peered over the wall in alarm. Out of the darkness appeared a lone southron, palms upraised in a token of peace. He was alone and unarmed, Haldir saw, so he bid him come up. Once the man was atop the wall, he pulled a rigid brown parchment from his bizarrely designed red shirt and handed it to Haldir. The elf turned and stepped away from the edge, deliberately unrolling the parchment. Legolas glanced over his shoulder and noted many words of hideous Southron speech scrawled hurriedly onto it in a blackish ink. Haldir turned back to the southron and asked him to read it. The southron agreed.

"They say: 'We are ready to negotiate with you, if you will send one, and only one, of your leaders, unaccompanied, to treat with our most venerated and inexorable general, whose name we will not reveal, at present, to perhaps procure peace, a magnanimous offer on our part," read the southron in broken elvish, "Comply with us and no more of your people need die. Do not be foolish enough to refuse. As you can see, we are far from defeated and you are still outnumbered."

Haldir was silent, at first. Everyone was as the words sank in. All were trying to unravel the catch. Were they really ready for peace? Or was this some foul trick? Haldir went, once again, to the edge of the wall. Legolas noticed that he was squinting out into the waiting army of Southrons, visible only by their torches, as if trying to solve some puzzlement. He blinked once, and then turned to the southron courier.

"Why do you want peace if you are so confident of victory?" he asked.

"We are a merciful people," the southron replied, though his eyes did not convince anyone of this statement. "We dislike forcing into extinction other beautiful peoples that would be useful for better purposes. We need subjects. The dead do not make good ones; neither can they pay tribute." Haldir lowered his eyes, as if in deep thought.

"Will the leader have guaranteed safe conduct?" he asked finally.

"The very highest," replied the Southron. "No harm will be done to him and he will be returned undamaged even if he decides that he would prefer war. You have the word of the Southron people." Haldir sneered at the man, as if he didn't put much faith in this southron's word. But then, he nodded.

"You are not considering going-?" asked Legolas in incredulity, placing a hand on Haldir's arm. "The Southrons are not renowned for their truth of word. It seems naught but foolishness to me. You will be slain!"

"It may very well be folly," said Haldir, frowning with thought, "but nevertheless, I must make an effort for peace. I will go with this southron and hear the terms, but I will not for anything surrender this city or agree to pay a tribute as slaves. Elves are a free race and will remain free if I have a say about it. We will not be their subjects. 'Tis better to die than to be a slave! However, I may be able to offer them a one-time tribute to convince them to leave. If they accept and name a price, I will consider it. I know we are not defeated, but I would at least attempt to make them listen to reason."

"An excellent decision, o my sagacious adversary," put in the southron. Haldir glared at him disapprovingly.

"Legolas will take over the command in my absence," continued Haldir. "Obey him as you would me." He stepped to the ladder and, seeming to feel an air of finality, as if he didn't expect that he would return, he turned about and gave a reassuring glance towards Legolas. Then, he went down, followed by the southron.

Legolas watched them go. As the southron disappeared over the top of the wall, they vanished from sight, hidden in the now heavy darkness that was night. The southron was carrying a torch with him, and that was the only thing the Elves saw as they peered over the wall: the great flickering flame traveling into the distance, growing smaller and smaller as they watched. And that was that. They were gone.

The Prince of Mirkwood sighed heavily and sat, his back to the cold stone wall. He was nearly exhausted, now that he thought about it, and needed to give his fatigued legs a rest. He hoped Haldir was right. Maybe he could procure peace somehow. But, one way or another, he felt that something didn't seem right about this business. Perhaps it was the look in the southron's eyes that had made him fear the most. He was terribly nervous and uneasy, and the other Elves noticed.

Most were repairing weapons, some were watching vigilantly at the wall, others were resting, as Legolas was, while still others were tending to the wounded. Legolas noticed one youthful elf that he had special pity for, mostly because he was such a sorry sight. He had long, dark, hair, and a handsome, boyish face, but his features were drawn with pain, and a sad, tired, countenance hung over him. He was sitting against a wall opposite Legolas holding steady a brutal Southron arrow that had pierced his shoulder. This was the part that was especially difficult about war.

All at once, a sentinel leapt to his feet and gave a cry:

"Horn! 'Tis the horn of Anarato! They have come!" Legolas was comforted. So Orophin had reached them in time! Now the Southrons were ensnared between two sizeable forces, with nowhere to run. They were like rats in a trap. Legolas felt almost certain they would surrender. But, to his great surprise, they merely advanced. He could scarcely see them in the darkness, but their torches allowed him to make a good guess. They would be hard to hit in the gloom, but they could shoot roughly where they perceived them to be. Legolas tentatively drew out an arrow. He wondered if they meant to attack or no. In any case, it didn't look good for Haldir. Legolas cursed under his breath.

"Vile Southrons!" he said vehemently. "So much for 'guaranteed safe-conduct'!" He turned to the others. "Hado i phillin!"

The first volley of arrows was loosed like a shower of deadly silver rain.


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV- Interrogation and Planning **

Legolas' command was echoed along the wall once more, and the Elves could see how many had fallen by the amount of torches that were extinguished. The Southrons were fighting back to back: half were trying to reach the wall; the others were fighting Anarato's force. They were caught off guard and they were now suffering the consequences. It truly was a slaughter. Legolas' force suffered no casualties as there were no Southron archers to speak of. Apparently, since they had all been at the back of the force, they were the first to be destroyed by Anarato, being unable to fire their bows at such close range. That was where Elves held the advantage. They could easily carry both sword and bow, while Southrons generally held only a large long-bow and perhaps a knife, both useless for close combat.

Not a single Southron warrior made it up the ladder that night. There were simply too many archers to contend with, and they had too far to run before reaching the walls. Soon realizing this fact, the remaining Southrons turned to face Anarato's army. They knew they were defeated, but they simply wouldn't accept it. And in such folly, they all died, save a few who surrendered or fled the battle.

Presently, the door wards opened the gates and the triumphant Elves filed in. They had taken few losses, for as any sensible person knows, it is sheer idiocy to battle Elves in the midst of a forest, especially at night. You cannot win. The Southrons learned this the hard way.

Legolas watched as Anarato strode up the steps to the wall and halted. His eyes went left and right, but didn't seem to find what they sought. His face fell, as if he assumed the worst.

"Where is Haldir?" he finally asked, turning to Legolas. It was then that Legolas remembered. And he feared in his heart that the elf lay amongst the dead.

* * *

The morning light revealed the heaps of Southron bodies littering the field like stones scattered by a small boy at play. Everywhere Legolas looked, there were bodies lying sprawled, some on top of each other, in piles of sometimes three or more. It was a ghastly sight altogether, but almost a comfort to the Elves as they beheld their vanquished enemies in utter desolation. They had taken merely eight prisoners. The rest had fled or were massacred.

Anarato selected one of the younger prisoners, who stood trembling for his life, and two Elves pulled him harshly forward, not feeling overly kind to anyone of Southron blood at present. Legolas sidled up to Anarato. He knew what he wanted to ask the Southron, but he was certain that Anarato shared his thought. He summoned the translator. Legolas knew that the general believed Haldir was dead, but he was hopeful that he might be mistaken.

"Where is Haldir?" he asked coldly, his voice a dull edge in the silence. It was the absence of noise that always falls over all after a great battle, and it blanketed everything. Legolas could sense what every Elf present was feeling. Haldir was a well-loved general. The southron seemed hesitant to speak, but a glance at the glowing gaze of hatred the Anarato held him with changed his mind.

"Speak up!" Anarato barked shortly.

"He was taken back to the outpost by a small party of Southrons," the soldier communicated quickly through the translator, glancing back at his companions fearfully. Anarato urged him to elaborate. The southron decided he had nothing to lose. He might as well aid them, and perhaps they would spare his life.

"They planned to use him as a hostage if the battle went ill," he continued. "If you attack them, they will kill him. They said as much. If you value your Elf-friend, I beg you to negotiate."

"We have attempted to negotiate before," answered Anarato, glancing first at Legolas and then back at the southron, "but you dealt deceitfully with us and took Haldir, sent as an emissary, who was promised he would not be harmed, hostage. That is your understanding of negotiation!" The southron gulped nervously, and his features seemed to tighten with anxiety.

"Tell me something that would help us," continued Anarato slowly, but with a veiled threatening intonation, "or you will not draw another breath, I say." Anarato deliberately unsheathed a jeweled knife and held it to the southron's throat. The man trembled visibly, but he dared not refuse to comply.

"Please! Go to-night with a small party, your best trained Elves, and break upon them silently," the southron blurted out plaintively. "This is the next best thing if you will not negotiate. I cannot guarantee that it will avail you, but it is the only other option if you ever want to see your friend alive again. And what's more, I know not if this be of interest to you, but they have another elf, as well. He looked a common soldier to me. Not remarkable. He said not his name. Nor did he give any other information. Five of our men brought him in. Apparently, he had been scouting in the woods. He was at full flight the opposite direction of the battle when they caught him. Since we thought that he was carrying a message of some sort, we didn't kill him immediately, but tried instead to extract information. This didn't work, as he would not give the slightest tale, but instead spat upon our most venerable general. This enraged our leader, and he decided that instead of a quick death, the elf would be sent back to the outpost for some sport later. I know not whether they made it through or no, they may have been intercepted, but the group departed a few mere minutes before your second army arrived."

Legolas looked down in silence. He could guess well whom they had caught, but it was still a puzzlement to him. If Orophin had been captured, how did Anarato's army arrive in such a timely fashion?

"And what of Haldir?" he asked. "How went the peace negotiation that you should take him prisoner?"

"Our general offered peace if he and his people, as well as you and yours, would become subject to the rule of the Southron nation hereafter: to pay tribute, to aid us in war, things of that sort. As you may well imagine, Haldir thought this demand outrageous and soundly refused, after which, he was sent back to the outpost as a prisoner."

"And who are you, a common soldier, I presume, that you should know all of this highly furtive information?"

"I am not a common soldier," the southron replied. "I am a noble. In fact, I helped plan this very battle." Legolas scoffed at him.

"Perhaps the Southrons should find a better planner if they wish to win more battles!" he said. The southron said nothing, knowing a rebuttal could cost him his life. Anarato sighed and peered around the southron to the others standing behind him. He seemed to study them for a time, perhaps to see if the southron had spoken the truth, though he himself could sense that he was. What he saw in their faces told him he was correct. They had nothing left to hide. They only wanted their lives. As Anarato stared, he began to feel something he didn't think he would feel; especially after the wrong they had done his people: genuine compassion. He sighed once more and turned his back to them, thinking. Feeling suddenly very weary, he wondered at this. He decided that it was the fact that he simply loathed battles where the odds didn't matter. Regardless of how many warriors he took against the outpost, long before he liberated it, Haldir and Orophin's lives would have fled them. He felt certain that there was no other alternative.

He instructed the Elven guards to conduct the prisoners down to the dungeon, but not to treat them harshly as they had done what he requested.

"So," said Legolas searchingly, trying to perceive the general's thought, "what are we to do?" Anarato hesitated a moment before answering; his eyes shut briefly, as though he were resting, or in deep thought. Finally, he responded.

"We will be required to attempt a rescue, as the southron suggested," he said. "It is the only decent thing to do in such a circumstance." Legolas nodded, acknowledging the general's truth.

"And," continued Anarato, "I want you to find the most elite Elves you can. We need them for this special undertaking. I would only take ten, or so. They are the most likely to get through without being seen. Obviously, we two will accompany them. We will go to the outpost, evaluate the situation, and make the best judgment we possibly can as for our plan of action. Find the others, and make haste. We haven't a moment to lose. Haldir and Orophin's lives depend on it."


	5. Chapter V

_A/N: I thought I could finish it all in one chapter, but I realized it will take another after this. I do think, however, that my writing has grown a bit more descriptive than previous chapters. I also acknowledge that this is a perfectly unrealistic and badly written story which was just a learning experience for me. Apologies for the slight change of style. I hope it's for the best. Anyway, on with the chapter!_

**Chapter V- The Rescue Attempt**

At dusk, the sun descended slowly from the pinnacle of the sky, releasing rays of vibrant rose and a pale orange into the dense valleys of tall green trees as a last show of strength before it was swallowed up. The gloom strove with it, proliferating, first in the East, but then spreading across the sky, eagerly creeping over the lands and covering all in a veil of shadow, while the light retreated further and further back to safer lands.

Legolas let out a heavy sigh and instinctively brushed a stray hair out of his eyes as they went. A bead of sweat formed on his anxious brow, but he scarcely noticed. The dark and cold crept in like a pale ghost. Stars appeared one by one, but were soon obscured by an unpredicted cloud cover, while crickets' chirping and the various calls of night birds were perceived here and there along the way. A brook or two rippled cheerily in the distance, all the while mirroring the faint light of a sliver moon clad with haze in their broad, shallow expanses. An eerie mist traveled along the ground at the Elves' feet, but did not hinder their passage in any way.

At length, Anarato halted and spoke in a soft voice that could only scarcely be heard even by elf ears.

"We are nearly there," he said. "By your lives, I bid you do only as I tell you. One mishap and our surprise, our plan, Haldir and Orophin's lives- perhaps even our own lives- will be in deadly peril. And, as was told you before, this is a fight to the death. If our plan fails, no one will flee. We will stand and fight, until each elf, before he falls dead, has killed thrice his equals, and has died with honor, or else avenged Haldir and Orophin's blood with a noble victory. That is understood, I presume?"

Everyone nodded solemnly. Legolas had found an equal number of elite Elves from Lorien and Mirkwood to do the task that was set before them. They were determined in their minds, and feared not the death they were certain to go to…only to complete the mission was their priority. The prince had chosen well.

"Very good," said Anarato. "Now, on we go, and continue in complete silence."

The Elves stole on hands and knees now, crouching low to the ground like lions stalking their prey. They had entered the clearing with caution, hiding behind whatever was available: the stump of a felled tree, a boulder, a slight rise in the soft, grassy turf. Legolas' breath was coming in short, noiseless gasps, not from weariness, but from concern for the captives held within the fort. He and Anarato slowly risked a glance over the top of their hiding place and took in the situation. They found the absence of light greatly in their favor. Not a thing could be seen from the edge of the clearing to the fort, which was perceived only by a small lantern atop the wall. The concealing gloom had consumed everything. The darkness was so complete that even though Elves had considerably better eye-sight than most other races in the dark, Legolas could scarcely make out the outline of two sentinels flanking the door, one on either side. They were the only visible enemy. After evaluating the scene for a few moments, Anarato motioned for each elf to approach while he told them what was to be done. He knew the fort well, an excellent advantage that he might otherwise not have had if he had been from Loth-lorien. Relating his strategy in soft whispers, he made certain each person heard him correctly.

"The first task I trust only myself and Legolas to. Wait for our signal, and then you know what to do. This entire operation is extremely perilous, if not utterly foolhardy. We shall see how the events play out." After a brief moment of preparation, he and Legolas set out slowly and surely to carry out the first leg of the plan.

Legolas sprinted noiselessly in a wide circle around the left edge of the glade until he came to that same side of the wall which was contiguously joined to the front, near the gate. His heart was pounding in his throat and he found himself involuntarily holding his breath. He knew that the lives of two individuals depended on him...and he wasn't about to let them down. Slowly, cautiously, he hugged the side, inching around the surface of the rough stone wall. Very guardedly, he slipped around the corner and edged along the wall like a silent ghost. Then, he halted, trembling in anxiety. This had to work. It must. He noted Anarato creeping along the wall on the other side. The unwary sentinels, still standing at each side of the gate, were completely oblivious to their presence. One shifted his weight and yawned, resting his curved scimitar on his shoulder. Both Elves were barely a few paces from them at this point. Legolas watched Anarato vigilantly. Soon, he held up his left hand and then let it drop sharply. That was the signal. Legolas pounced. Within a half-second, his man was dead with a slit throat. With a guttural sigh, the southron pitched forward headlong to the sod. Looking up once more, Legolas noted that Anarato had finished with his man, as well. So far so good. Anarato waved his arms hugely in signal. Legolas noted the other Elves, who looked like little more than faint shadows, springing to life on the far side of the clearing. When they reached the fort, the next element of the plan took shape silently and efficiently. Once everyone else was hidden safely along the side of the other wall in case of detection, one elf went to the corner, studied it a moment, and then adeptly tossed the grappling rope he had carried with him up to a salient in the tall wall. The hook caught fairly noisily, everyone thought, but in reality, the dull ringing sound had not been painfully noticeable. The elf waited a moment, listening. Once satisfied, he began to skillfully climb. The company held their breaths in silent waiting. About a minute later, he slid back down and approached Anarato.

"There was no one atop the wall but three men, all fast asleep," he whispered. "The languor of the night is working in our favor."

"Very well," replied Anarato, "Ondollo and Úvitéru, hasten to your tasks!" The two Elves he had indicated strode to the rope and climbed it in a matter of a few seconds. A short time later, they returned.

"All well?" asked Anarato. Ondollo nodded.

"There are three Southrons up there who will never wake again," he said with a soft chuckle.

"Excellent," said Anarato. "Is everything clear? What of the south door? Any guards you can see?"

"No," replied Ondollo, "we saw none but those three. They must be as overly confident of their fort as to neglect to post alert sentinels. They have little more sense than Orcs."

"True enough," said Anarato, lowering his voice a good deal, "but still, we must be cautious. We do not know how many are inside. The most difficult part of our task is still to come. Let us see to it." He made around the wall to the rope and climbed rather effortlessly to the top. The rest followed. The fortress, though far less than massive, was still strong; fit to shelter at least 300 soldiers. But, who was to say how many were there at present? Legolas knew they had been strangely fortunate so far. There might have been a score of Southrons atop the wall awaiting them, but there were not. Everything was going very well thus far.

Once they were up, Anarato strode to the right, past some stone steps descending steeply into the base of the outpost, and to another set of steps. These he went down, carefully, until he came to a sturdy wooden door. He was heading for the dungeons. All other Elves took their elegantly decorated bows from their shoulders and each fit a graceful white feathered arrow to the string. Then, they bent their bows to the ready. Anarato tried the door, his curved blade glimmering white in his skillful hand. The door creaked open noisily, much to everyone's chagrin.

"Wait-!" whispered Ondollo suddenly, stopping Anarato. "Mightn't one of us dress as a Southron- taking the armor from these dead ones- and scout out the area first?"

"That may prove helpful," commented Anarato in a slight whisper. "You, Legolas, shall have the task. I trust this to you. You mustn't fail."

Less than half a score of minutes later, Legolas was nearly ready. He tucked his identifying golden hair in and donned the helmet.

"Act informal," advised Anarato, handing the elf a southron sword. "If anyone passes you, look the other way. Your elvish features will reveal you if you do not, for no Southrons are as fair of face as you. Gather as much information as you may, and return. And may the Valar be with you."

"And also with you, Anarato."

Legolas stepped to the door and entered, not looking behind him. He plunged into the darkness of the steep stone stairwell, sword in front of him. When he came to the bottom, he saw a few lit torches on the wall. This helped him distinguish where he was, but it also worried him. Might there be adversaries down here? His fear began to grow. He wasn't afraid for himself, no. He was simply fearful that something he did would give himself away, destroying everything that the others were counting on. But he decided to push these thoughts to the back of his mind. It wouldn't do to have a nervous breakdown. Summoning leonine courage, he pressed on, around the corner, up another set of steps, and to the dungeon door. There was no one in sight. The small cramped corridors flickered with eerie torchlight, but not a soul was to be seen. Legolas stepped back and stared at the door observantly. He noted that it had a heavy bolt-lock on the outside, but strangely, it wasn't locked. Then, he noticed that a slight beam of light was shining through from underneath the door. There was someone in there! Legolas pressed himself against the side of the door, listening intently. What he heard made him feel ill. Shuddering, he staggered back against the wall. He had to help, but there wasn't any promising manner of doing this alone. He knew he had to go back and summon the others. He couldn't win a fight unaided, nor would that be a prudent thing to do. Forcibly, he turned and was just readying himself for a sprint back to Anarato, when he heard a loud creaking behind him. Before he could do much, the door, groaning on its hinges, swung open, and three brawny Southrons filed out, laughing sadistically. Legolas had quickly leaned against the wall again, turning his face away and pretending to doze. They took little notice of him, but, after they had locked the door once more, simply passed on, heading the opposite way that he had come. When their backs were to him, he noted what they carried in their hands. One had a torch, another a club, and the other, a bloody whip. Legolas shut his eyes and breathed a silent prayer. He feared the worst.

Once they were out of sight, he quickly stole over to the door and unlocked it. Snatching a torch off the corridor wall, he stepped hurriedly inside, shutting the door behind him. The light illuminated a ghastly sight. Legolas felt silent tears well up in his eyes, but blinked them away. He knelt beside the blood-spattered body sprawled on the floor, golden hair matted and covered in dried blood. It was Orophin.

"The Southrons shall pay for THIS!" Legolas snarled vehemently, rising to his feet. The hatred dripped from his voice in such a way that it startled him. His eyes blazed in a wild fury. If he hadn't been a sensible sort of person, he certainly would have rushed out and foolishly expended his wrath, ruining any surprise they might have had left. But he restrained himself.

"What to do now?" he said out loud, a venomous quality joining his intonation. "One elf dead, another absent! Our plan is completely reduced to nothing!" He paced the cell for a short time, thinking as well as allowing his rage to cool a bit. After coming to no decisions or answers, he considered simply staying with the plan. But he could not leave Orophin lying dead in a pool of his own blood in the darkness! After a bit more thought, however, he saw that he had no choice. Regretfully, he turned to the door.

"Legolas…?" The voice was weak and raspy, so delicate as to easily be missed…if one was not listening closely. Legolas whirled in shock, the torch flaring, and knelt once again beside Orophin.

"You're still alive? But…how?"

"Not…for long," whispered Orophin, trying to turn, but finding himself too weak. Dropping the torch on the stone floor, Legolas gingerly grasped each of his arms and struggled to pick the elf up.

"I will…help…you," he said with great effort. "I cannot leave you." Gripping Orophin tightly, Legolas opened the door and supported him out, closing the door and bolt-locking it behind him. He was anxious that someone might come before they made it back to the others, and so he endeavored to hurry as best he could without exacerbating Orophin's condition.

* * *

"What do you think is taking so long?" whispered Ondollo, pacing methodically to and fro at the steps. 

"I'm concerned about Legolas, as well," said Anarato, "but I will give him a bit longer. Then, we must go look for him. I- wait…" His face grew pale, but showed no other sign of emotion.


End file.
